


Still

by palinopsia



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: A Lot Of Shit has happened, Cipher Watcher, Deadfire, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pillow Talk, but its also lowkey really sad, it is just gay my dudes, its fluffy and sweet and theyre in love, its more than a little overwhelming, pale elf watcher, the watcher is under A Lot of pressure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 13:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palinopsia/pseuds/palinopsia
Summary: He knows there’s something Tryggvi isn’t telling him – something he isn’t telling anyone. And whatever it is, it’s getting worse.





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> another 600-word 3 am ficlet turned self-indulgent Gay, and im not even ashamed  
> lowkey a parallel fic to Constellations if you squint  
> the game doesn't let me have a conversation about how berath placed a "chime" in the watcher's chest, mentioned it wouldn't hurt him unless he crossed her, and does not hesitate to threaten him with death at any sign of disobedience,, so i had to write it myself. and as always it ended up being longer and gayer than originally planned
> 
> i wanted to finish and post the pridefic before anything else but this one took me by surprise lmao
> 
> rushed, largely unedited and mostly un-beta'd. enjoy

Aloth finds that enjoys moments like these, much to his own surprise. Moments when it’s just him and Tryggvi, moments where they don’t have to hide behind words and pretenses, where the naked truth hangs in the air between them in all its simplicity. Moments when they can just _be_.

Because Aloth’s always treasured his privacy, and solitude and peace often meant the same thing; he simply never knew any other way. But only now is he realizing how _lonely_ it truly was. And he’s changed, over the years, as everyone does – but with Tryggvi it’s more than that. It’s fundamental. He could never go back to that life, to being that _person_ , even if he wanted to. It scares him, sometimes, just how different it is. How different _he_ is, now. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He enjoys seeing Tryggvi like this, too; silver blond hair let down and messed up, pale freckles standing out against his flushed cheeks, features slack in peaceful bliss. Guard down, walls broken. It feels like time itself has stopped, just for the two of them. Just for this once. Like they could stay like this forever, a half-moment swaying back and forth between reality and dream.

And it feels like Aloth could watch him forever, listening to the steady sounds of the calm night ocean and the muffled howling of the wind, the ever-present creaking of wood seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. He hasn’t felt so at peace in weeks.

But it’s too peaceful.

The sounds are too even, and the cabin is too still. It’s calming, yet unnerving. It irks Aloth in a way he can’t let go of. In a way that settles into the darker corners of his mind, and _stays_. And Tryggvi looks almost otherworldly lying on his back next to him, with the soft moonlight washing over his face in milky strokes. Ethereal, even.

Ghostly.

Because he looks _blue_ , but it’s not the kind of blue that he looks in the early hours of morning when they yet have an hour or two for themselves, without the sun bearing down on them, rude and uninvited and obnoxious. It’s not the kind of blue he looks after the sun has just finished setting either, when the sky is not yet dark but still carrying the scent of _night_ – the kind that’s an invite, a promise. It’s not the kind of blue that makes Aloth want to leave _marks_ on it, the kind that makes him want to strip him down to his bare skin so he can take it all in, and admire the view. It’s not any of that.

It’s a cold and lifeless blue, flat and muted; a stark contrast against the way Tryggvi’s chest rises and falls like waves crashing into the shore, washing over everything in their path, over and over and _over_ , relentlessly gentle. Or the way his eyes seem to gleam with open, unbridled affection as he studies Aloth and the faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Aloth realizes, then, that he must’ve been staring.

"What is it?"

It's almost a whisper, but Aloth is caught off-guard all the same. He knows he shouldn't be – Tryggvi's always been good at reading him. He forces a small smile before he speaks.

"Nothing.” He doesn’t sound convincing to even his own ears. “I just..." he trails off.

He knows there’s something Tryggvi isn’t telling him – something he isn’t telling anyone. Something’s _off_ about him. Aloth’s caught him frozen in front of a mirror one too many times, staring at his reflection like he’s trying to _see_ something. He thrashes around in his sleep, and Aloth’s had to slap him awake more than once, and it’s an experience he’d rather not have to repeat. Aloth doesn’t ask, and Tryggvi doesn’t tell, but Aloth knows something is different about these nightmares. He’s seen Tryggvi at his worst, his lowest, but this… this is entirely something else. And whatever it is, it’s getting worse. Tryggvi’s been trying to hide it, but Aloth knows him too well by now. Perhaps better than even Tryggvi would like to admit.

But how does he even approach this? He can’t very well just _ask_ , and he doesn’t want to push him to talk if he doesn’t want to. He’d expect the same from him, it’s only fair. Besides, it’s not as if he can just–

 _Dinnae fash y'self, lad._  

Aloth sighs. Iselmyr is right, for once. He _is_ overthinking it. So he stops thinking about it altogether, and he's moving his hand before he knows it. He finds himself gently placing it on Tryggvi’s chest, and starts mindlessly tracing shapes with his fingers. It’s a nervous habit, he knows. It has a remarkable calming effect on Aloth; the barely-there feeling of soft, fine hair against his fingers, the familiar texture of his skin, the solid mass of _Tryggvi_.  

But it’s more than that, this time. Because while Aloth doesn’t know much about the kind of magic the Engwithans used to create the gods, he’s spent too much time around their ruins not to recognize it. So he presses slightly harder, centering the pressure, and he holds his hand there. Then he gives Tryggvi a meaningful look. Tryggvi shifts his gaze to the other side of the room as he tenses under the weight of his hand. Aloth stops.

"Aloth…”

It's a warning as much as it is an apology. It’s easy to mistake it for irritation, but he sounds tired. It’s subtle, but it’s there. If he was going to continue, he thinks better of it, and instead brings his hand up to his chest to place it on Aloth’s. And it’s warm. It’s always warm.

Aloth can’t help but think it used to be warmer.

Tryggvi lightly squeezes Aloth’s hand before trying to drag it away from his chest, but Aloth isn’t giving up so easily. This has been going on for far too long. Aloth can only worry so much before he has to do something about it. And he can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

He finally looks at Aloth, then.

And it’s certainly not _often_ that Tryggvi displays emotion so openly and without restraint, that he allows himself the ease. But he’s different when he’s with Aloth; more _himself_ when it’s just the two of them, comfortably intimate. He doesn’t hold back – perhaps because he knows he doesn’t have to. So Aloth’s grown accustomed to seeing this side of him, come to expect it, even.

He still isn’t ready for what he finds in Tryggvi’s expression when he meets his gaze.

His eyes are pleading. Aloth can feel his heart being torn into pieces.

But he’s not giving up so easily.

So he keeps his hand there. He can feel Tryggvi’s heartbeat vibrate through his fingers, warm and comforting and _alive_. And he thinks he can almost hear it in the silence, in perfect harmony with the ebb and flow of the waves, the swaying of the ship, and the sound of –

He finally hears it. _Feels_ it, perhaps. He can’t be sure. But there’s something else, there. Something that doesn't belong. Something that isn't _Tryggvi_.

"What did she do to you?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He hadn’t meant to sound so indignant.

Tryggvi closes his eyes, turning his head towards the ceiling. He draws a shaky breath. He doesn't speak. Aloth waits.

And he waits.

"I'm sorry," he offers, finally. "I shouldn't have asked, I–"

"I don't know."

And _that_ catches Aloth off-guard, too.

And then it’s his turn to be quiet. He takes his time as he plays it over and over in his mind, turning the words over, taking them apart. The more he thinks about it, the lower his stomach sinks, until it’s just a pit threatening to pull him in. Like he could just disappear. Like he’s nothing.

"You mean..." he trails off. He can’t finish the sentence as the full weight of what Tryggvi is saying hits him. He desperately searches his eyes for an answer, but Tryggvi still isn't looking at him.

"I don’t know," he repeats, a little louder this time. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but stops at the last second. He stays quiet.

Aloth carefully turns his hand over in Tryggvi's, intertwining their fingers. Then slowly, gently he brings Tryggvi’s hand to his lips, softly pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Tell me."

It's barely a above a whisper, but he knows Tryggvi heard it. He meant it as a question. It almost sounds like one.

Once again, Tryggvi doesn’t reply.

Aloth is about to give up and try to go to sleep when Tryggvi calmly reaches out, and places his hand at the back of Aloth’s head, and Aloth _feels it_.

It’s only a weak tingling at first, distant and almost blurry in the back of his mind. Then it grows stronger, reaching out, slow and hesitant. Aloth recognizes it as Tryggvi immediately, and once he lets him, he floods his mind with his presence.

It’s too much and too fast all at once, too loud, too bright. But their minds  – their souls – fit together like they were made for it, and it settles down quickly as always. Aloth closes his eyes. And then it’s too quiet. Too calm. Too still.

Then there’s a _thud_.

Then another.

Then another.

And as it grows louder and louder into a weak but steady rhythm, Aloth can make out a distant ringing. It’s almost an echo, faded and dim at the far edges of his mind, but it’s there. A chill runs down Aloth’s spine.

He can feel Tryggvi reaching out, hesitant, wavering. He knows he could, if he wanted. He wouldn’t meet any resistance.

Aloth opens his eyes, then. Tryggvi’s looking at him, conflict written all over his face. He’s still there, in the back of his mind.

_Tell me._

He knows he doesn’t have to say it.

Aloth reaches around, gently pulling Tryggvi’s hand off the back of his hand. Taking his hand, he brings it to his lips again. _Tell me._ This time he starts with the inside of his wrist, pressing an open-mouthed kiss before drifting up to his palm. _Tell me._ He presses a kiss there before moving onto his knuckles again, and lets his lips linger. _Tell me._ And as he slowly shifts to his fingers, making his way down to his fingertips and closes his mouth around two of them, he finally feels Tryggvi’s hesitation falter, resistance crumbling.

_Tell me._

And so Tryggvi does.

Not with words. Or sounds, or images, or even memories. Just raw emotion.

It slowly trickles in from the back of his mind, at first. Unsettling, yet easy to ignore. Then it grows into a steady stream, rapidly spreading in his mind; unraveling and twining through the corridors of his mind – a little too quickly, as if the path is already familiar. But before he can name the feeling, his mind is flooded once again, and it’s overwhelming. Not loud or bright this time but paralyzing, suffocating, and Aloth finds himself gasping for breath.

To his surprise, he doesn’t have any difficulty with it. But the feeling doesn’t dissipate. It shifts, twists, and _sinks_ , but it stays.

And Aloth recognizes that feeling. He’s more familiar with it than he’d like to admit, and no stranger to its devastating effects.

Then, and only then, Tryggvi finally speaks.

_I’m scared._

Aloth _feels_ it more than he hears it, but it hits him hard all the same. He takes his time processing it, trying not to give into panic, not to be overwhelmed by the wave of dread washing over him – dread that doesn’t belong to Tryggvi.

 _We’re doomed_ , is his first thought.

Because Tryggvi might be exceptionally cool-headed, to the point where it’s almost worrying at times, but he’s also reckless enough not to let fear deter him from a fight.

The reactions that follow are too much and too fast to be _thoughts_ – coherent ones, anyway. It hurts. Aches. Aloth feels like his chest is caving in. The urge, the _need_ to comfort Tryggvi, to be closer to him, to see him _smile_ is overwhelming.

Before he can even think about saying anything, he feels Tryggvi’s presence withdraw from his mind. And then he’s left only with Tryggvi’s hand in his, fingers locked and pressed to his own chest, and that _look_ in his eyes. Like he knows something Aloth doesn’t. Like that’s not all there is to it.

But Aloth can’t think about that right now.

So he shift his weight to his elbow, moves closer, and leans in. And he doesn’t know how to make this better, or what there is to say, or if they’re even going to make it out of this alive. But for now, that doesn’t matter.

Tryggvi doesn’t immediately return the kiss, but Aloth is insistent, and he quickly melts into it. And it’s hungry, but not hungry with need, or urgency. It’s slow and tender and careful, and it’s hungry for hope. For hope, and comfort, and understanding. It’s question. It’s a promise. It’s more than anything _words_ could convey.

So Aloth doesn’t bother with them. When he pulls back, and throws a leg over Tryggvi’s, and buries his face into Tryggvi’s shoulder, he doesn’t bother with words. He presses a final kiss to his jaw, places his hand over his chest once again, and listens.

He falls asleep knowing Tryggvi is alive and here with him. And for now, that’s enough.

It has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> lowkey considering turning these pillow talk ficlets into a series tbh
> 
> thanks for reading and hope u enjoyed! constructive criticism and feedback is more than welcome


End file.
